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LIBRARY QF CONGRESS. 



Cliap._...... Copyright No. 

\^^ 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Makin' Rhymes and Other Rhymes 



By Edwin P. Haavorth 



MAKIN' RHYMES. 

AND 

OTHER RHYMES 



Bound in silk, postpaid, 75 cents 



PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR 





^-^***^^ 



Su.^'i''^J5!' ^^c^c.^-^^-^. 



?VAakin' I^HYJyiES 

andQTHER TPhYTIES 



BY 

EDWIN p. 6:A WORTH 



Garden City. Mo. 

EDWIN P. HAWORTH 

1900 



I'WO COPIES RECEIVED, 

Library of COfig^atiy 
Uffla@ of tb« 

APR 1 6 1900 

H«gitt*r of Copyrlgitty 






57946 

Copyright, 1900 

by 

Edwin P. Hawobth 



SECOND OOPV. 



Makin' Rhymes and Other Rhymes 



There's music in the meted line, 
There^s music in the mellow rhyine, 
But in man's heart, far more sublime, 

Sounds aye an ha7'mony divine. 



CONTENTS 

Proem 

A Gentle Eeproof . . . . 33 

An Old Valentine . . . .18 

Away Back East in Illynoy . . 22 

'Ef I wus Big like Pa is . . . .53 

Father's Great Armchair . . 58 

HUSH-A-BY, ROCK-A-BY . . . .61 

If 1 Were in Love .... 51 

List'nin' for Santy . . . .48 



Little Blue Violet .... 55 

Lullaby of Comet-Land . . .74 

Makin' Rhymes 13 

Mother's Kiss .28 

My Teacher 41 

Nig's Master ...... 15 

Opinions Tested 69 

Papa's Wee Lass 24 

Perhaps 47 

Precept and Practice . . . .64 

The Big Wolf-Drive ... 76 

The Cradle- King . . . . . 72 

The Fairy-Ball Lullaby . . 26 

The Fancy of a Girl . . . . 63 



Thk Haymaking-Time ... 78 

The Litteratp:uk's Wealth . . 56 

The Little Mound .... 70 

The Maid in the Moon . . . .43 

The Ol' Rag-Man .... 30 

The Queer Little Family . . .38 

These ]^e\vfanglp:d Chkis'mases . 66 

When 1 Get Btg Like Pa . . .36 



For the reprint of List'nin" for Santy in this vol- 
ume, especial thanks is due the courtesy of The Illus- 
trated Youth and Age. 



^'^AKIN' J^HYMES 

— AND— 

OTHER RHYMES 



MAKIN' RHYMES 

Ff there's anything that suits me 
Better 'n— anything, I guess- 
Better 'n hearin' the banjo plingin', 
Better 'n tellin' tales 'nd singin', 
Better 'n seein' tlie quails a-wingin' 

O'er the fiel's— it's rhymes, I guess. 
If there's anything that suits me, 

It's a-makin' rhymes, I guess. 



14 MAKIN' RHYMES 

If there's anything that pleases— 

Not that other things I lil^e less— 
For a spring-like day in June-time, 
Or a pleasant hour at noon-time, 
Or an ev'ning in full-moon-time 

'Nd no clouds— it's rhymes, I guess. 
If there's anything that pleases 
Me, it's makin' rhymes, I guess. 

If there's anything I like best, 

'Nd that makes me want to bless— 
Jest bless the whole of God's creation. 
The good 'nd bad of ev'ry nation — 
'Nd makes me feel a sweet elation 

Inflate my soul— it's rhymes, I guess. 
If there's anything I like best, 
It's a-makin' rhymes, I guess. 



NIG'S MASTER 

I'm not a very ol' feller, 

But I think I'm purty big-,— 
I'm only five years ol', you know, 
But then I'm goin' on six, an'— Ho! 
W'y, Nig, you skeert me,— Nig. 

Wy Nig's my little ol' pug dog. 

The nicest one I've seed! 
Thomas Washin'ton Jefferson— 
My nabur boy— w'y he's got one, 
But his ol' pug won't lead. 

An' his ol' pug ain't pug at all. 
It's black-tan-terrier-fyce,— 
An' I feed Nig on chicken pie. 
An' nicest things to eat.— O my! 
An' his pug lives on mice. 
15 



16 NIG'S MASTER 

Thiit or black cat on the woodshed roof 

Of nights, an' sings so sad— 
He ketclies mices ever' day,— 
The mostes' fun to see him play 
With 'em! When I'm a lad— 

That's what Gram pa says Tommy is, 

'Cause he's purt'near bigger 'n me,— 
When I'm a lad— you bet, I won't 
Have no black-terrier-tan— ner don't 
Want no black cats— not me! 

Ugh! — Nig, what are j^ou doin' there? 

W'y, Nig! — Heuh, Nig, come here. 
O, that's Nig after the ol' black cat. 
It most skeert me.— An' I wush that 

Tommy wus som'ers near. 

Tommy's a great big kodger. He 

Is mostly big as Pa. 
He's two, free, 'leven, nine, six feet tall, 
An' seven years ol'. Ma buys him all 

Nice things to wear. But, law!— 



nig's master 17 

He ain't ahead of me. 'Cause I— 

I'm got a little suit 
With coat an' pants an'— pockets in, 
Where I can put things like big men,— 

An' I'm to got some boots! 

I wush 'at I had galluses. 

They's mighty nice to wear,— 
Heap nicer 'n button-holes an' wais',— 
Do ever'thing— dim' ever'place,— 

No button-holes to tear. 

I clim'd up on the shed, one day- 
Ma made me dance a jig. 
But I love her — when I'm not bad,— 
An' runs to kiss her, I'm so glad- 
There she comes now.— Heuh, Nig! 



AN OLD VALENTINE 

A s I ransacked old chests and quaint 

traveling trunks, 
And rummaged rare keepsakes of ancient 
design, 
With a mingling of feelings, of pleasure and 
pain, 
I chanced on an old Valentine. 

'Tis a frail little missive and nervously 
penned 
By the hand of a lass in her earliest teens; 
The corners are crumpled, the creamed paper 
soiled. 
Till young eyes could scarce read what it 
means; 

18 



AN OLD VALENTINE 19 

For the writing is effaced by oft-tendered 
caress, 
And the imprint of lips and of tear-drops 
combine 
To moil the sweet words,— only left on my 
heart, 
Since gone from that old Valentine. 

Many seasons have bloomed into smiles and 
'to tears 
Since the days of that youthful and happy 
tryst, 
But well I remember the vow that we sealed 
As we tiptoed and o'er the gate kissed. 

And now it returns with redoubling force. 
As the delicate oder of the sweet eglantine 

That she pressed and enclosed, after all of 
these years, 
Greets my sense from that old Valentine. 

For the marble-white face, and those lips of 
pearl, 
And the rippling hair of a sunset gold. 



20 AN OLD VALENTINE 

And the ringless hand, and the graceful 
form, 
Appeal to me now as of old. 

And I see the gentle, upturned face 
With its frank blue eyes and its smile, 
divine. 
As she blushingly curled her sweet lips and 
said 
She would be ^^my old Valentine." 

But along with the years that have passed 

since then. 

And the varying fortunes and failures of 
life, 

Comes the proof that the future is not as 

we plan, 

But with manifold changes is rife. 

Now, far beyond the zenith of life, 
I dwell in this hermitage of mine*, 

Wliile over the bountiful board of another 
Presides that old Valentine. 



AN OLD VALENTINE 21 

For we drew apart— though I loved her the 
while — 
And she married a man more worthy of 
her, 
Who had wealth and refinement and learn- 
ing, profound, 
And all that a queen might prefer. 

Yet I am not bitter, and envy not him 
The wine of true happiness once "to be 
mine,"— 

But out of my solitude rises to God 
A prayer for that old Valentine. 



AWAY BACK EAST IN ILLYNOY 

A WAY back east in Illynoy, 

Where corn grows tall as apple-trees 
'N' punkins big enough for a boy 

To make a cart of, if he please — 
Back there in Illynoy, I say, 

Is where they raised me, as a boy. 
'N' now 't I'm old 'n' far away, 
My mem'ry wanders back each day — 
Away back east in Illynoy. 

Away back east in Illynoy, 

Where rabbits 'n' prairie chickens thrive. 
It used to fill my heart with joy 

To go out on a rabbit-drive, 
'N' hem 'em in on ev'ry side.— 

O, how my heart leaped up in joy 
22 



AWAY BACK EAST IN ILLYNOY 23 

To come home with my game-sack tied 
About my neck 'n' filled— all, pride!— 
Away back east in Illynoy! 

Away back east in Illynoy, 

Where a man can easy earn his bread- 
Not all this trouble to alloy 

His pleasures and be-frost his his head!— 
Away back there I wush, my friend- 
Beyond these troubles that annoy- 
That you would lay me, at the end, 
On any spot that they will lend,— 
Away back east in Illynoy. 



PAPA'S WEE LASS 

\Xf HEN I wake in the morning I hie 
away 
To her little trundle-bed, 
To take a peep 
At the one asleep, 
And I steal just a single kiss for the day 
From her little, curly head. 

As I come home at noon to take my lunch, 
1 search through the whole flower-land. 
Where lilies blow, 
And cull, you know, 
Of the purest and whitest, a dainty bunch 
For that little, dimpled hand. 
24* 



papa's wee lass 25 

And I find on the gate at my little cot 
With a face so sweet and meek, 
My pretty girl, 
With her hair a-curl, 
And I give her a kiss on her "beauty spot," 
On her little, rosy cheek. 

I take her at night on my lap to play, 
And we romp till she almost goes 
To sleep. I sing 
To the pretty thing, 
"Not a prettier babe in the land," I say, 
"With her little, puggy nose." 

Then may never a pain hurt my baby lass,— 
May she never have to part 

From the parent breasts. 
Whereon she rests,— 
May she ne'er seek the rest of the silent mass 
For her little, beating heart. 



THE FAIRY-BALL LULLABY 

"Prom Peek-a-boo Land I hear a call, 

Sleep, my Darling One, sleep! 
Fairies inviting you to their ball. 
Sleep, my Darling One, sleep! 
Merry, bright faces with cherry lips. 
Cheeks as the rosebud, the bee never sips, 
Angel-like voices from out their toy-ships, 
Sleep, my Darling One, sleep! 

Hear the gay echoes of laughter and song, 

Sleep, my Precious One, sleep! 
Everyone calls you to join their throng, 

Sleep, my Precious One, sleep! 
The sky is their meadow, with daisies be- 

strown. 
Skipping and tripping, they each dance 
• alone, 

26 



THE FAIRY-BALL LULLABY 27 

Each one is wanting, for partner, My Own, 
Sleep, my Precious One, sleep! 

Choose you the fairest bright Fairy of all, 

Sleep, my Angel One, sleep! 
Haste, on your pretty white wings, to the 
ball. 

Sleep, my Angel One, sleep! 
Dance with the Fairies and sup of their 

wine. 
Trip to the measure of music divine,— 
None other there to compare with Mine,— 

Sleep, my Angel One, sleep! 



MOTHER'S KISS 

TWTy mother alius kissed away 
My troubles an' my pain. 
No matter how bad hurt I wus, 
Ur distressed wus my brain, 

She'd take me in her lap an' then 

She'd ask me, "What is this 
That ails my boy?" an' make me well 
By givin' me a kiss. 

One time I had my finger mashed 

Until the nail comed off; 
Another time I sprained my wrist 

By fallin' from the loft; 
28 



mother's kiss 29 

An' lots uv times my heart wus broke 
Beyond all hope nv bliss; — 

But mother alius made me well 
By g-ivin' me a kiss. 

But now they isn't any cure, 

For mother's gone away, 
An' won't come back no more, because 
She's gone to Heaven, they say. — 
I feel a lump rise in my throat 

That hurts me, an' I miss 
Her,— still she don't come back 
To cure me with a kiss. 



THE OL' RAG-MAN 

HPhe oP rag-man was 'round to-day to see 
If we had any ol' rags or iron to swap, 
Or mabe some hens 
That he'd coop in his pens, 
Or eggs, or turkeys, or fowls, or geese, 
Or anything else that would help to in- 
crease 
His jolted up, jumbled up load. 
All stacked up an' piled up as high as a tree 
On his ol' creaky wagon — 'bout ready to 
drop- 
As he went down the country road. 

The ol' rag-man swaps tins an' pans an' 
things. 
For ever'thing you have about the farm — 
30 



THE OL' KAG-MAN 31 

Whether good or whether bad, 
llavin' worth or never had— 
It makes no difference to him,— 
He swaps for ever 'thing— the slim 
Little criimpledest, crookedest, queer 
Little hiimpback'dest, crippledest dwarf, 
that tarings 
'Round his tinware to trade — both in sun- 
shine an' storm — 
An' is always just brim full of cheer. 

The ol' rag-man ain't got no hands like 
mine, 
An' yet he works— his fingers twisted 
'round 
Into fish-hooks — 
How funny they looks! — 
An' yet he works an' handles things, 
An' cracks liis jokes an' laughs an' sings, 
An' hurries the fastest he can 



32 THE ol' rag-man 

To earn bread an' butter, that his childern 
may dine 
Like otliers, an' not beg. Oil, don't lie 
astound 
You!— This good, little, queer ol' rag- 
man! 



A GENTLE REPEOOF 

pOME here, my child, I've a message I want 

to give you to-day, 
A message of love and of gentle reproof for 

your careless actions and way. 
Sit down on this stool at my feet, dear, and 

listen while I tell 
You something of which you have little 

thought, and ponder on it well. 

You will not think me unkind, dear, for say- 
ing this, I'm sure. 

Though it may seem a little harsh, the 
motive, I adjure 

You to look upon as merciful and for your 
happiness, — 

33 



34 A GENTLE KEPUOOF 

For in the years to come your mind will 
revert to it to bless! 

My daughter, you have noticed— have you 

not? — your mother's face, — 
The worn expression that it wears, wliei-e 

once was seen no trace 
Of aug-ht but pleasure: where the smile that 

used to grace those lips 
AVas as the beauty of the rose, at which a 

humming-bird sips. 

Perhaps a burden that has robbed some 
beauty from that brow. 

And added something to the stoop that 
bends those shoulders now. 

Has been her daughter's thoughtlessness- 
nay, do not start, my child I 

You were innocent of ill intent— by school- 
girl thoughts beguiled. 

vShe has loved you as only a mother can and 
labored early and late, 



A GENTLE REPROOF 35 

That you might keep your soft pahns gloved 

and delicate form neat. 
8he schooled herself in your babyhood to 

serve you as a slave, — 
Ah, many's the time she has snatched you, 

dear, from out the gaping gravel 

Come daughter, now, do not make me sad 

for having told you this I— 
For other years reserve those tears— and 

give your pa a kiss. 
Then go and press your mother's lips and, 

ere the day is over. 
Help bear the burden she has borne and, 

mark me, she will look younger! 



WHEN I GET BIG LIKE PA 

YKJ hp:n I get big like pa 

I aim to be a king 
Er President of these U. S. 
Er preaclier-man, — like ourn, I guess, 
Er teacher, er something — ' 
When I get big. 

When I get big like pa 

I'm goin' t' be rich 
An' wear a tall, stiff, silk, plug hat 
An' have a coach an'— get big 'n' fat- 

A coachman t' drive an' hitch- 
When I get big. 

When I get big like pa 

I'll make men stan' aroun',— 

I'll show 'em who's t' be the boss,— 

36 



WHEN I GET BIG LIKE PA 3 

An' them 'at don't, I'll give a toss— 
The biggest ones 'at's foun'— 
AVhen I get big. 

When I get big like pa 

I'll be a f lanthropist, 
An' hand out gold to folks— an' boj^s, 
An' give to all the childerns toys, — 

An' show folks what wus just- 
When I get big. 

When I get big like pa 

I'm goin' t' be real good. 
I'll never say no bad swear words, 
I'll whip the boys 'at throw at birds, — 

An' get the childern's wood,— 
When I get big. 

When I get big like pa 

I'll be whole lots uv things- 
Be rich, an' — good, an' — when I die, 
I 'spec' most ever'one '11 cry, — 

An' I'll have great big wings. 
When I— 

When I get big — like pa. 



THE QUEER LITTLE FAMILY 

HPhi: Toodle-Um-Doons and the Tweedle- 
Um-Deens 
Are the funniest little Fellows 
That ever were lodged in a two-by-four 
house 
And slept on warm, soft, downy pillows. 
For they act so unlike and each look as 
queer- 
When viewed from the other's Spectacles- 
As Little Boy Blue and Red Riding-Hood 
Would look if riding on Bicycles. 

The Toodle-Um-Doons are as white as the 
Stars, 

38 



THE QUEKR LITTLE FAMILY 39 

But goldened a little like Ice-Creain: 
The Tweedle-Um-Deens black as the dark- 
ness of night 
When you wake from a dreadful Bad- 
Dream. 
The Toodle-Um-Doons have the awkward est 
mouths— 
So long, and quite broad like a paddle: 
The Tweedle-Um-Deens' mouths are tlie 
pickin'est things — 
As cute as a little Toy-Saddle. 

And the Toodle-Um-Doons have the flat- 
ten 'dest feet, 
All stretched out and growed up together: 
And the Tweedle-Um-Deen's toes are like 
sticks in a nest, 
When spread out and covered with 
feather: 
But the Toodle-Um-Doons go out bathing 
each day, 
And dive, and can float like a Blubber;' 



40 THE CiUEER LITTLE FAMILY 

While the Tweedle-Um-Deens run at the 
sight of a Pool, 
Like any big, awkward Land-Lubber. 

Yet these two little families are housed up 
as one, 
And live with the selfsame Stepmother, 
Who tucks them together to bed, at sun- 
down, 
And covers them up lit to smother. 
O, you couldn't guess who this Queer Fam- 
ily is. 
Whose Baby-Bird-Love ever quickens,— 
For the Toodle-Um-Doons are some little 
White-Ducks, 
And the Tweedle-Um-I)eens, little Black- 
Chickens. 



MY TEACHER 

T ' VE got the bestest teacher of 

The whole job lot — 
The bestest of the shootin' match. 

An' I'll just tell you what, 
I wouldn't have that purty one— 

The one up stair, 
Fur I'm of this opinion,— she 

Don't treat the childern fair. 

But our'n does the bizness up 
Just about fine.— 

She makes us walk the chalk— yes, sir 
An' makes us toe the line ; 

But then she does it all so nice- 
Treats ever'one the same— 
41 



42 MY TEACHER 

Tliat, though she ain't good lookin', we 
Ain't got no heart to blame. 

The tirst night when she'd taught our 
room, 

I told ma an' pa 
That "I ain't goin' to like her, fur 

She's ugly as a squaw." 
Ma says, "You mus'n't talk that way. ' ' 

An' when I wus undressed, 
Pa used his slipper hard. — An' now 

1 like mv teacher th' best. 



THE MAID IN THE MOON 

pOME and sit on my knee. Here is some- 
thing to see— 

The great silver Moon in the sky. 
And I"ll tell 3t>u about the error that's out 

'Bout the Moon and the Maiden so high. 

'Tis a fabulous tale that a man gets to sail 
'Round the Earth on the' face of the Moon. 

But we will not believe, for 'tis meant to 
deceive 
Whether spoken, or written in rune. 

You may search on his face, high and low, 
all the space, 

43 



44 THE MAID IN THE MOON 

And a Man you'll not see late or soon. 
But near the Moon's eye, just below, you 
will spy 
The face of The Maid in the Moon. 

She is pretty as silk and there's none of her 
ilk. 
Who tread the foul soil here below. 
Her complexion's pure white,— you may see 
it at night, 
As white as the silvery snow. 

What a soft, pearly neck! Without jewels 
to deck, 
More fair than a Mermet rose! 
And her dimpled chin! And her lips are as 
thin 
As any lily's that blows! 

Her fashion's not late— fact it's most out 

of date; 
For bangs frizzed are long since outgrown 
By Parisian maids, used to style's rabid 

raids,— 



THE MAID IN THE MOON 45 

But not so with The Maid in the Moon. 

But why keep in style? It would take a 
great while 
To prepare herself every day. 
And besides she must be always ready for 
tea, 
For she sups every hour, they say. 

There's a little romance, I will tell, for per- 
chance. 
It has missed little Wide-A wake's ear. 
It is said, I believe,— though I cannot con- 
ceive, — 
That the Moon calls the pretty Maid 
"dear." 

And by many 'tis said— though I'd rather be 
dead 
Than believe,— and I think it's been noon 
When none could well see, — for the tales 
don't agree,— 
That the Moon kissed The Maid in the 
Moon. 



40 THE MAID IN THE MOON 

Had I time all to tell, tliis romance would 
sing well, 
Tiiough I'm loth to believe it is true,— 
But still who could foresee what ice'd do, you 
and me, 
If we were behind the clouds, tool 

How can one ever think that a Man's there 
to blink 

On the face of the silvery lake? 
It's a fiction of mothers and poets and others. 

To sleep to beguile Wide-Awake. 

So lay down your head — since the truth lias 
been said — 

On my breast, while 1 sing, and we'll soon 
Be sailing away to the land of pure day 

For a kiss from The Maid in the Moon. 



PERHAPS 

HPhe queerest thing 'at ever I heard 
Ur ever seen, wus one 'at occurred 

The other day to me 'n' Cousin Sue. 
She telled me to make a wush, an' nen 
We pulled an' pulled a wis^h-bone, when 

Rig-ht in the middle it split in two. 

So neither 'n' got our wush. But we 
'LI wait till I'm big— an' nen we'll see. 
47 



LLST'NIN' FOR 8ANTY 

T WU8II 'twus next Christmas an' I wus to 

bed 
A-list'nin' to hear what ol' Santa Chius said. 
He's a mighty slick feller an' up to his work; 
That's the reason he comes 'round so long 

after dark. 

Last night I wus sure the ol' feller I'd ketch 
As he slipped down the chimney in order to 

fetch 
Me presents, fur I wusn't goin' to sleep,— 
But just lay with one eye partly open to 

peep. 

An' while I wus layin' as still as a mouse, 
1 thought I heard sleigh ))ells on top of the 
house. 

48 



libt'nin' for santy 49 

J listened an' lieard them go, "Ting-a-ling- 

ling!" 
An' waited fur Santy my presents to bring. 

I waited an' listened an' heard the bells 

ring, 
Till d'reckly I heard lots of happy folks sing- 
A whole himderd thousan', I 'kspect, more 

or less— 
An' saw them all dressed in— white satin, I 

guess. 

They singed an' they fluttered about in the 

air 
With their little white wings,— an' their 

arms wus all bare,— 
They looked like the pictures you see in the 

books, 
An' maybe wus angels,— that's the way 

angels looks. 

They kep' singin' an' singin' an' ihitterin' 
about, 



oo ltst'nin' fok santy 

Till the flrst thing J knowed ma said, "Time 

t' crawl out I" 
So I wusli 'twus next Christmas an' I wus 

to bed 
A-list'nin' to hear what ol' Santa Clans 

said. 



IF I WERE IN LOVE 

Tf I were in love,— and many there be,— 
I'd hie me away over ocean and lea — 
On wings of strong pinion, I'd fly like a 
dove, 
And seek far and near my fair mate, — 
Not fret and bemoan my sad fate. 
From early to late,— if I were in love. 

If I were in love, with fervor I'd woo, 
And win her fair hand with a pledge to be 
true, 
While the stars of the heaven linger above, 
And life keeps the ebb and the flow 
Of blood in my veins, to and fro, 
Through weal and through woe,— if J 
were in love. 

51 



52 IF I WKRE IN LOVE 

If I were in love, with her I'd be wed, 
Regardless of want and what might be said. 
And then with a view Heaven's sanction 
to prove, 
Invite from the heavenly gate 
The arch-angel down to my fete 
To officiate,— if I were in love I 



EF I WUS BIG LIKE PA IS 

'Pf I WUS big like pa is 

An' he wus small like me, 
I think I'd be the biggest, 
With him scarce to my knee.— 

Let's see— 
Ef I wus big like pa is, 
W'y— he'd be littler 'n I 
An' nen he'd grow an', maby, 
Be big like me by'n'by. 

Ef I wus big like pa is 
An' he the boy,— you knows,— 
I'd be heap bigger 'n any 
Uv sister Mandy's bos. 
Suppose 
53 



54 KF 1 WITS lUG LIKE PA IS 

That I WHS big like pa is 
All' one 'ud come to see 
ISIy sister, would I use, then, 
My boot on him?— iS^ot me. 

Ef I wus big like pa is,— 
An' he the little man,— 
An' he'd do sum'pin' 'e ortn't, 
An's sorry 'bout it an'— 

My plan— 
Ef 1 wus big like pa is— 
'Ud be t' not look grim 
An' whip, 'cause I'd remember I 
Wus once a boy like him. 



LITTLE BLUE VIOLET 

Little blue violet 
Hid in the grass, 

Glancing so coyly 
LTp as we pass. 

Little blue violet, 
Shunning the glare 

Of the rich noon-day— 
Overly fair. 

Little blue violet, 
Meekly you dwell, 

Decked with a radiance 
Born of the dell. 

Little blue violet, — 
Such is my love,— 

Beauty and meekness 
Like that Above. 



THE LITTERATEUR'S WEALTIJ 

VKJhen a feller's pour 'nd worthless, 

Got no knack fur gainln' wealth, 
Scarcely get a crust to live on— 

Not Inclined to obtain by stealth— 
When he's feelin' weak 'nd douncy, 

'Most like fallin' in the ditch, 
Got no heart,— O how much pleasure!— 

Makin' stories 'bout folks that's rich. 

Some folks never could make money,— 
'Nough to keep them lookin' white, 

'Nd their grocer paid, 'nd barber, 
'Nd liave fuel fur heat 'nd light— 

Wusn"t born with wealth, 'nd Fortune 
56 



THE LITTERATEUR S WEALTH 

Never courted them with smiles,— 
They must write 'nd dream 'nd fancy 
FolliS that can lieap gold in piles. 

What's the differ'nce if you're not rich, 

Hain't no use to groan 'nd grunt, 
Poverty's a mighty blessin'I— 

Though it's m-con-\en-i-unt,— 
'Nd all pleasure's in one's thinkin', 

While fur ev'ry man's a niche; 
So I tliink ru just keep makin' 

Stories 'bout other folks that's rich! 



FATHER'S GREAT ARMCHAIR 

A MONG the pleasures around the house, 

The best one, I declare, 
Is just to sit and rock or doze 
In father's g-reat armchair. 

To come from playing liard all day 

And be all tired out, 
It makes one feel real peart and gay 

And helps to make one stout, 
To spend an hour, ere he go 

To bed alone, up stair. 
Sitting and rocking, to and fro, 

In father's great armchair. 

My sister May and I, when we 
Were tired of other fun, 

58 



FATHER S GREAT ARMCHAIR 59 

Used often try our best, and see 

Which one could fastest run. 
And, though I was the younger and 

Could never run so fast 
As she, I got the upper hand 

And just the thing I asked. 
For, if I failed, then I would bite 

And scratch and pull May's hair, 
Till mother ended up the tight 

By giving me— the chair. 

Last spring May took down very ill. 

And had to lie in bed, 
And wanted us to all keep still,— 

And sometimes cool her head. — 
Till finally my mother bore 

Tier over, with a prayer, 
"Where she migiit sit and smilo, once more, 

Jn father's great armchair. 



60 FATHER'S GREAT ARMCHAIR 

And now if May would come and live 
With us, no pains I'd spare 

To malie her happy — and I'd give 
Her father's great armchair. 



J&5 



HUSII-A-BY, ROCK-A-BY 

''riRED of romping and tired of playini 
Tired of walking and tired of straying, 
Rest you, my bonny-browed boy! 
Tired of skipping with Fairies and dancing, 
Tired of tripping witli Wood-Nymplis, en- 
trancing, 
Rest you, my bonny-browed boy! 

Hush-a-by, rock-a-by, motlier is near you, 
Make no loud noises or some one will hear 

you, 
Angels' gay voices are coming to cheer you 
On to the land of sweet dreams. 

Wearied of pleasure and wearied of sorrow. 
Wearied of happiness -o'er till to-morrow, 
Sleep you, my golden-haired boy! 
61 



i)2 HUSH-A-BY, ROCK-A-BY 

Wearied of many of youth's blessings tested, 
Wearied of life itself, till you have rested, 
Sleep you, my golden-haired boy! 

ilush-a-by, rock-a-by, sleep well, my dearie, 
Rest, and to-morrow you will not be weary, 
Dream pleasant dreams and you will be 
cheery, 
Dream little gossamer dreams. 



THE FANCY OF A GlEL 

T THINK I'll be a soldier when I'm grown, 
With uniform an' sword an' dash an' 
whirl, 
For one thing- 1 have noticed an' have 
known, 
That that will ketch the fancy sf a girl. 
63 



PRECEPT AND PlIACTICE 

JOHNNY, why don't j'-oii ever go 
ToSiindaj^ School, like me? 
Up there where folkses dress up tine, 
An' wear starched shirts an' shoes that 

shine, 
An' little girls wear curls, — an' know 
Their lesson gooder'n nie? 

Johnny, you'd ort to go up there 

To that big, fine church-house— 
Witli cyarpets in the isles an' pews — 
Where wealthy men pays heavy dues,— 
Like on the train you pays your fare, — 
Fur best seats in the house. 
64 



PRECEPT AND PRACTICE 65 

Johnny, whole lots o' thing's we learn 

Frum teachers in that school, 
'Bout folks we never heard before— 
I 'speck they must be 'most a score— 
An' how bad comp'ny we should spurn, 
An' keep the Golden Rule. 

Johnny, I wush you'd go some day. 

An' hear how we are blln' 
An' need the Good-Man's help to see, 
An' make us like we'd ort to be.— 
"Got no good clo'es to wear," you say? 

I'll stay home 'n' lend you mine! 



THESE NEWFANGLED CHRIS'MASES 

'These here newfangled Cliris'mases, 

Spelled X instead of Chris, 
Are gettin' all too dudish-like 

Fur such old heads as this. 
Seems like tliey're run to make a shovv^ 

'Nd get a pile of checks,— 
'Nd just to make a sensation 

Spelled, not with Chrin, but X. 

At Peanut, where I used to sit 

'Nd wliittle by the hour 
On Goodsbox Corner, now I couldn't,— 

By the celestial power!— 
1 couldn't fuT five mviutes stand 

Without as many wrecks 
With folks a-huntin' Chris'raas gifts, 

Spelled, not with Chris, but X. 



THESE NEWFANaLED CHKIS'3IASES (i7 

The stores are heaped with childern's 
toys, 
Dolls, dogs 'nd sheep 'nd drams; 

Delicate chinas, gilded 'round, 
'Nd costin' dainty sums; 

V/indow 'nd showcase heapin' full. 
Jewels fur arms 'nd necks,— 

'Nd each one labeled so you'll know- 
Spelled, not with Chris, but X. 

The Church 'nd Sunday Schools now 
days 

Are takin' to the shine; 
Preachers a-preachin' givin' gifts 

'Nd not the truth, divine; 
The Sunday Schools a-havin' trees, 

'Nd wheels, 'nd boats with decks,— 
Fur these newfangled Chris 'mases. 

Spelled, not with Chris, but X. 

The old-time Chris'mas dinners, too. 

Are all gone out of date; 
A table filled with wholesome grub. 



08 THESK NEWFANGLED CHKIS'MASES 

Folks will not tolerate; 
Dainty viands, cooked a la French, — 

To which your taste objecks, — 
'Nd hid frum sight,— makes Chris'mas 
now— 

Spelled, not with Chris, but X. 

O fur the old-time Chris'masesI 

"With hearts plumb full of joy; 
Gifts that are given fur their worth 

'Nd suited to a boy; 
'Nd Chrirt'mas dinners, pilin' up, 

'Nd naburs you respecks 
Come 'round to eat;— not Chris'mases 

Spelled, not with Chris, but X. 

'Nd O the old-time Chris'mases 

With fathers sayin' grace; 
'Nd preachers preachin' gospel truths, 

'N^d liftin' up the race; 
'Nd ever' soul a-runnin' o'er 

With an old-fashioned bliss! — 
Not these newfangled Chris'mases, 

Spelled X instead of Chris. 



OPINIONS TESTED 

lUr OTHER thinks I'm purty small 

To be a-havin' beaux— 
But she has never been a boy, 
An' I don't guess she knows. 

Little Sary 'Mely Ann, 
'At lives next door to us, 

Has got such rosy lips 'at I, 
One day, gived them a buss. 

An' father says 'at she's my girl, 
An' says 'at boys has beaux,— 

An' father used to be a boy,— 
So I guess father knows. 
69 



THE LITTLE MOUND 

"Deside yon hill is a little mound; 

'Tis long and narrow, with sloping- 
sides, 
Fresh is the blue grass all around 
But not a root in the fresh earth hides. 
And at one end of the mound a stone 
Is standing in marble silence alone. 

Near it approaches a wayward son, — 
Just entered manhood's strength and 
years,— 
His energies bent on life's pleasures begun 
So recently;— too strong-hearted for 
fears, — 

70 



THE littlp: mound 71 

As reckless and dauntless as a lion, 

bold, 
And schooled to vices and crimes 

scarce told. 

Now on that tnound lays the sin-hardened 
man 
Whom nothing could move to a tear or a 
sigh. 
Writhing and groaning as under a ban, 
Prone on the earth does the anguished 
one lie. 
For, ah! that mound is a mother's sod 
To him who is now passing under the 
rod. 

'Tis a better man that leaves the grave,— 

Though wretched, and groveling as the 

dust,— 

For up from the clods a hand doth wave, 

Ever, which lendeth him faith totrusti 

O the influence of love from mother 

to son 
Is never done, is nover done I 



THE CRADLE-KING 

TJere's a little romance 1 will sing, 1 will 
sing, 
Here's a little romance I will sing. 
'Tis the story of one who was king, who was 
king, 
'Tis the story of one who was king. 

There was once a young man of small size, 
of small size, 
And a clever young man for his years. 
Who ruled a whole realm with his eyes, with 
his eyes. 
Yes, ruled a whole realm with his tears. 

But unwisely he ruled, this young man, this 
young man, 
For the good of his subjects, all. 

72 



THE CRADLE-KING 73 

He had the whole realm under ban, under 
ban, 
Of discord from greatest to small. 

He fell in love with a wife, with a wife, 
With another man's wife, fell in love, 

And he stole 'way her heart and despoiled 
the man's life, 
And he ruined the nest of a dove. 

Now if you will list I am done, I am done, 
Telling who it was caused all this strife. 

That fickle, small woman calls you son, calls 
you son. 
And I call her wife, call her wife. 



LULLABY OF COMET-LAND 

pLOSE your winky-blinky eyes, 

Upward my lady-bird sailsl 

Dream of beauties in the skies, 

Upward my lady-bird sails! 
Search the mysteries now unknown. 
Look at glories all your own, 
Gaze in rapture at your throne. 
In Comet-Land. 

Rock-a-by wields a golden wand. 
Ride on the wing of the gales! 

Gives her orders to courtiers, grand. 
Ride on the wing of the gales! 
74 



LULLABY OF COMET-LAND 75 

Every one moves to her call, 
Prince and beggar, great and small,— 
She, the idol of them all,— 
In Comet-Land. 

Nestle closely then, little one. 

Fly over mountains and dales! 
Pass the land of the midday sun, 
Fly over mountains and dales! 
iSeek the realm of radiant nights. 
All aglow with transplendent sights. 
Bounded by haloes of golden delights, 
In Comet-Land. 



THE BIG WOLF-DRIVE 

"Tell you what's the mostest fun, 
Winter warm 'nd weather dry, 

Clubs 'nd rocks but not no gun- 
All the country out to try,— 

Dogs kep' tied up till you're done,— 
Rabbits thick as in a hive. 
When you finish— a big wolf-drive! 

Yellin', holler'n', whoopin', scream, 

Walkin', runnin,' hours 'pon hours, 
'Pears like you wus in a dream. 

Exercise until the power's 
All gone from you— but you seem 
Still as fresh 'nd all alive,— 
Till you're home from the big wolf- 
drive. 

76 



THE BIG WOLF-DRIVE 77 

One time me 'nd Pa 'nd Johnt, 
Uncle Boon 'nd his three boys, 

Went from our side of the hunt. 
'Nd / killed one— guess the noise 

Of Pa's gun stunned him, for he 
grunt,— 
Took on, my! I drawed my knife 
^Nd killed one wolf— on that wolf-drive. 

Last time v/hen we had a chase. 
Closed in, havin' hosts of fun. 

From miles around 'nd lots of space- 
Found we hadn't a single one. — 

Took it with as good a grace 
As if we had slaughtered five,— 
For huntings the fun of a big wolf- 
drive. 



THE IIAYMAKING-TIME 

r\ THE hayinakinLr-tiiiie, O the haymaking- 
time! 
The catbird and the brown thrush making 

music all a-chime, 
The bumblebee and honeybee a-humming 

at their task, 
The rattler and the bull snake coiled up in 

the sun to bask, 
The harvest-hands all wringing' wet, with 

sweat a-dripping down 
From off their brows and nose and chin, and 

hands all hard and brown, — 
And nothing for a lad to do but drink in 

nature's sweets 
And hoard up stores of wisdom, gained from 

everything he meets. 
78 



THE HAY3IAKING-TIME 79 

O the haymaking-time, O the haymaking- 
time! 
The earth a-gloat with melody, the zephyr 

gusts a-rhyme, 
The leaves and twigs, tlie vines and trees, 

speaking in tongues of verse. 
Fields of wheat and pastures, green, richer 

than any purse; 
Orchard, meadow, woodland, dale, all in the 

selfsame mood, 
Each inspiring, each inspired, and dancing 

the year's interlude; 
While up in the sky the king of day plays 

chords on rays of light 
And holds entranced, belated hours, the 

beauteous queen of night. 

O the haymaking-time, O the haymaking- 
time! 

The mind and soul in harmony with nature's 
moods, sublime; 

A boyhood's years and boyhood's heart, and 
fancy free as space 



80 THE HAYMAKING-TIME 

And reading truths and beauties where, to 

man's eyes, is no trace. 
With life and love before him and with 

dreams of greatness, rare, 
A-gilding with an halo every thought to 

over-fair, — 

To wish to be a man, then, were a most un- 
holy crime, 

In the haymaking-time, the old haymaking- 
time. 



APR 16 1900 




liiiiji 

Q 01 5 937 18b ^ 




S^St^'-^i^'^^M^ 



